


Hell of a Wake-up Call

by thefrogg



Series: Salt!verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby makes Dean stop playing ostrich.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell of a Wake-up Call

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted to my livejournal.

Dean hunches over the kitchen sink, drinking tap water from cupped hands; Bobby doesn't even glance at him, just keeps flipping through one of the books stacked on the table.

The water shuts off; the silence lengthens, grows stiff and uncomfortable. Bobby finally looks up, fingertips thudding to the tabletop.

Dean's shoulders are taut, ropy muscles gleaming with the clamminess of drying sweat. Veins stand out in his lower arms, and his knuckles, if Bobby could see them, would be clenched white around the sink's rim. The waistband of his jeans gapes a little, slivers of black space between denim and skin like a jagged maw.

Bobby hates the fact that he can count Dean's ribs now, stress and the Deal and the hunt having taken their toll. "You know," he says quietly, trying not to startle Dean, "I think this is the first time I've seen you and Sam separated by more than a few inches since you got here."

"Yeah, so?" Dean's back bows, then straightens, and he turns to get a glass and fill it with water before he turns to face the kitchen, one arm crossed over his chest. "You have a point?" he adds when Bobby doesn't elaborate.

The shadows at the edge of his view shift; Bobby smiles grimly to himself. At least Sam is watching his back. "The two of you lovers yet?"

Water sprays across the kitchen floor; Dean coughs a little and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "What the hell? Bobby, you on something?" He glares in indignant protest. "We get that all the time on the road, people thinking we're gay and fucking each other. Hell, we joke about it, play it up! But I never thought you'd--"

"No, Dean," Sam interrupts quietly as he steps into the room, steel lurking beneath the sleep-roughened tones. "You joke about it. I never did. Never have." His jaw clenches, muscles shifting in the half-darkness spilling from the hallway. He stares, watching Dean's expression change from outrage to pain and denial; he sighs and shakes his head, then retreats. The guest room door closes with a dull click, sounding like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

Dean turns dazed and disbelieving eyes to Bobby. "You, you knew about, that he was, that--" He breaks off, ducks his head, unable to maintain eye contact.

"I've never known of two people more tightly bound together than you and Sam, Dean. Not me and my wife, not your parents, no one." Dean doesn't answer. "Do you really think either one of you is capable of letting go enough to love someone else that much? You gave up a chance at life with Cassie for Sam. He gave up Jessica for you."

"But that wasn't, he was..."

"You've belonged to each other since he was six months old. You know that, boy. Time you pulled your head out of the sand and own up to it," Bobby said softly.

Dean's eyes shut tightly, the skin furrowing at the edges as he fumbles for the counter. The glass of water lands with a loud thunk. "This is, this...Dad would have never--"

"John Winchester was one of the finest men -- one of the finest human beings --" Bobby corrects himself. "I have ever had the privilege to know. He didn't give a rat's ass about that, just that the two of you were happy."

Dean flinches, then makes a good impression of trying to climb over the counter, over the sink and out the kitchen window, without moving.

"You really think either one of you were given a choice, the way you were raised? You never got to know anybody, never learned to trust anyone enough to build anything. I pointed it out to your father when you were barely a teenager."

"You actually--" Dean stops to swallow several times. "You talked to him about--"

"Yeah, I did. Talked to Sam, too. Or rather, he talked to me. You were everything to each other. You still are, enough that you went and sold your bloody soul to bring Sam back. You think he didn't figure that out? You've both known about this, you're just a hell of a lot better than Sam at denial."

"When." 

"Talked to your dad when you were fourteen. Sam talked to me when he was fifteen."

"Fifteen years you've known." Dean laughs under his breath.

"Dean--"

"No, Bobby, I get it, I get that you and Dad and Sam have been hiding this, this huge _thing,"_ because there is no way in hell he is going to say that _word,_ "from me, and now I-I, can't, I can't..."

The break is slow, a train wreck of gargantuan proportions; Dean seems to fold in upon himself, knees hitting the floor hard enough to rattle the dishes. His cheeks glisten wetly in the instant before he tucks chin to chest, hands clasped behind his head.

"Dean." Bobby hates the way he looks like he's waiting for his execution, faint tremors underneath the rippling muscles of suppressed sobs. "I didn't bring this up to hurt you. I--"

"Then what, Bobby?" Dean snarls, head snapping up so he can glare.

Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. "How long have you been having nightmares?"

"I don't think that's any of your damn--"

"Something's eating you, boy, don't you start with that. Those nightmares you've been having? They're not _you._ It's a damn dream eater, and you picked it up because of--"

"Don't. Just...tell me how to kill it. And...just don't." Dean doesn't bother to move from his position on the floor, just stares in bitter expectation.


End file.
